


Shared Spaces, Science Aces

by inn3rstar



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, POV Multiple, my first fanfic on here!, takes place during their College Times, the other characters besides fidds and ford are just mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:44:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inn3rstar/pseuds/inn3rstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing Stanford Pines was bad at, it was keeping his growing crush on a certain banjo player at bay.</p>
<p>If there was one thing Fiddleford McGucket was fairly good at, it was taking matters into his own hands when it came to romance.</p>
<p>If there was one thing the two roommates were both amazing at, it was being there for each other.<br/>If there was one thing they were both horrible at, it was confessing obviously mutual attractions.</p>
<p>Oh boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Southern Beauty, College Newbies

**Author's Note:**

> each chapter will switch to the other's POV, so let's start off with stanford  
> boy howdy I have so much saved fic for this I forget how many chapters  
> this was going to be a oneshot bUT nOPE AHA  
> so I guess stay tuned for more of this

College at a school nowhere near the one he'd hoped for wasn't the best adventure Stanford Pines had embarked on, but he could deal with it. Besides, his semester had begun fairly well. From the start, his professors and students had figured out that Ford was going to excel, with good grades and prospects obviously ahead of him. He was being recognized for his intellect, not teased for two six-fingered hands, and it was as good a start as any.  
This information had made it to his mother through a phone call, an event that felt forced yet familiar, but usually pleasant.It wasn’t that Stanford didn’t love his parents (well, his father he could live without), but there was nothing like the empty bedroom of the other S. Pines to stifle “normal” family joys. College was a new start, though, and Ma Pines wanted so badly to believe her son as he said “I know it’s not my dream college, Ma, but I know I can succeed here and get to where I’m headed. Don’t worry, there won’t be anything separating me from my studies!”

It turns out that he was wrong on that front. _Very_ wrong indeed, since something as simple as a smile from his roommate could now screw him over like a slap in the face. It wasn't that the banjo player he roomed with was annoying or rude. Fiddleford McGucket seemed to have the qualities of a good roommate, with both a friendly face and personality. He'd been quick to befriend Ford, and their late-night games of DD &MD had helped spark what seemed to be a growing friendship, with the aspiring inventor’s country singing as a soundtrack.

They were set on a course that would, barring any unforeseen details, leave them with a lasting friendship that had no reason to end.

If only that was all that Ford wanted with his roommate. _If only_.

* * *

 

Stanford knew that his father could be cruel, and he doubted that Filbrick Pines would want his favorite son dating another man. Then again, he doubted the reason for his middle name would want _anyone_ in such a relationship. Ford had kept that reminder in his head through junior high till now, pushing away assorted crushes on assorted guys for years. He was NOT getting kicked out of his house as well, especially not for something like, well, being gay.

Sure, he'd thought about dating, and occasionally daydreamed about chasing his dreams with a hand to hold, but academic excellence had become the desperate goal of Stanford Pines. He couldn't wish for too many things, and it wasn’t like he had a shot in the world of romance anyway. Ford was horrendous at social interaction, and dating wasn't something he saw himself having the time or guts to do. That bridge could be crossed if he ever felt the need to come to it, and he had other problems to worry about.

Yet, Stanford had felt that familiar twinge in his chest at the first sight of his roommate. He'd dismissed it as a simple attraction, something that would fade and meant nothing. Until, of course, he realized that Fidds was more than a pretty face. The man was also just as much of a nerd as him, full of ideas and inventions that could revolutionize the world. Combine that with a shared interest in roleplaying games and a very attractive Southern drawl, and Stanford Pines had a problem. A problem that came in the form of longish dark blonde hair that he could only describe as "poofy." A problem that had blue eyes the color of robin's eggs. A problem with a heart that was as big as his dead sexy nose and smile.

Yup, he was screwed.

However, it had taken the brunette a while to realize how deep he was falling. He’d thought Fiddleford was attractive right away, no doubt about that, but he’d noticed much more than that once the two of them had grown closer. Staying up to talk, laughing over rounds of DD&MD, consulting each other while studying: these all showed Ford all the amazing traits his colleague had, and he loved them all. Quirky phrases to kindness to humor to whatever the hell else he had to offer, it all made Stanford Pines redder than a newly painted fire truck.

If only he knew that, just maybe, that special banjo-toting inventor was indeed flirting with him.


	2. Six-Fingered Sentiments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford is head over heels for his roommate, no denying that, and he finally decides to help his crush's anxiety through the powers of moving his notes and being there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for the banjo man to give his two cents  
> for some reason I think my flirting style is similar to the way I headcanon fiddleford's so like?? idk but i agree with the Choices He Made In This Fic

Fiddleford McGucket was at his wits end, and the reason for it came in the form of none other than his roommate. Stanford Pines was something else, both in his  
appearance and personality.  With six fingers per hand, a mess of brunette fluff for hair, and a little bit of chub, Fidds was more than crushing on the nerd. Ford was one of the cutest guys he’d met, and definitely one of the most intriguing.  
  
Of course, it didn't help that they had similar interests and goals. During their time together, Fiddleford noticed that his roommate could even be a bit shy and introverted, and something about the brunette's silence was just as charming as his words. Oh god, Fiddleford could _not_ let this one get away.  
  
So, he did one of the things he did best, and flirted his brains out.  
  
    With Stanford, he’d felt that little hints were the way to go. A brush of his five fingers against the other's six, compliments here and there, and cockiness when the time seemed right. He’d internally groan when his subtle attempts at flirting soared over the other head in his dormitory, almost laughing at how _oblivious_ Stanford was when it came to his intentions. Then again, it wasn’t like his crush was hopeless at picking up what he put down. Every now and again, Ford would react to Fidds’ words like he’d been shocked, eyes widening as his face flushed the color of roses. It was adorable, and it couldn’t help but make Fiddleford wonder whether he actually _was_ getting somewhere with this.  
  
Well, there was only one way to find out. Scratch that, there were _many_ ways to find out, and Fiddleford Hadron McGucket was going to try as many of them as he could. 

* * *

_Fiddleford’s Mind, Idea #1: Hands to Hearts_

 

Throughout the months he’d known (and fallen for) Stanford, Fidds had always been bothered by his friend’s lack of self esteem. A six-fingered handshake was one finger friendlier as far as he was concerned, and he wished Ford could just understand how _amazing_ he could really be. So, through the powers of moving a stack of papers, he decided to get his point across.

 

"Fiddleford, have you seen my notes? I thought they were on my desk..." Looking up from his reclined position on his bed, the dark blonde saw a frantic Ford pacing around their dorm.  
  
"Don't worry, Ford, there's some papers right here. Are these your notes?" Grabbing the papers at the foot of his bed (which had "mysteriously" migrated there from the brunette's desk), he held them up.  
"Oh, thank God, that's them all right. Don't know how they got there, but thank you  for spotting them! I need them for an upcoming exam, and I do _not_ want to have to redo them."  
"Glad to help. Say, is this upcoming exam the one that kept ya up late last night?"  
"Yes, yes it was. I think I'll do okay, but I haven't been sleeping that well and--"  
"Hush your worrying--sleep or no sleep, your grade will be the envy of every fella in that room." Holding out the notes, Fidds stood up to hand them over.  
    "That's one of the nicest things I've heard all week. Thanks, Fidds." Trying to not grin at the nickname (which sounded like a symphony in that _voice_ ), Fiddleford gave the papers to his roommate, making sure their hands connected for a little longer than necessary. As blue eyes met the brown, the two stood there for a moment, both wanting to speak but neither daring to.

  
Breaking the silence, Stanford took back the papers, blushing and looking downward at his feet. Hiding a smirk, the blonde brought up a new conversation topic semi-related to the moment he’d helped create.  
  
    "You know, those extra fingers are really something, ya know that?"  
Ford almost jumped where he stood."Y-you think so? I mean, you're one of the few people to say that."  
"Ford, it's amazing! Besides, what's wrong with bein' a little different? Better than having five fingers but not doing anything unique with them."

 

Silently, his hand met the brunette's again, holding it gently. Face flushed, Stanford shrugged off the comment. "Sure, I guess, but they didn't help me in other areas....making friends, for example."

With a sudden urge to yell at childhood threats he didn't even know, Fiddleford surprised even himself by stroking the hand in his. Glancing to the side, he followed up with what he hoped would be sentimental enough.

"They're not friends worth havin,' then, not if they're gonna tease you for something like that. I've had my fair share of teasing--for different reasons, of course, so I can't say I know what you went through, or where you came from, but you're here now, and you've got me."  
A mixture of emotions flashed across the face in front of him, brown eyes widening ever so slightly.

"What...what were you teased about?"  
  
Thinking back to the hatred thrown at him for, well, not just liking girls, Fidds shook his head slightly. "Not important. What's important is you moving on and accepting that you're better than any of them." Squeezing the hand still entwined in his, the inventor let go and walked toward the door of their dorm. "I think I might take a walk, if that's okay with you. You can come if ya want," he added, grinning at the more than flustered scholar near him.  


"Um, no thanks, I really need to study. You’ll be be back soon, right?"  
"Of course. See ya soon, Ford!"

As Fiddleford walked out the door, he couldn't help but let his smile stretch wider. He'd spoken his mind (or at least some of it), and he'd even seemed to help soothe Ford's anxiety a little (something that wasn't permanent, but hey, he helped!).

That familiar twinge in his stomach joined his grin, though, as a new thought squeezed its way into his mind: _This plan's not over yet._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford's brain won't let go of a certain banjo player, and the next part of Fiddleford's plan blows him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of fidds being a cutie  
> aka Error Error Please Reboot Your Stanford Pines  
> in a good way  
> ford finds lip balm I'm proud of him

Screaming internally (something he’d been doing for the past few months), it was all Stanford Pines could do to not fall over where he stood. The last few minutes flashed in his mind like a collection of photos, and a buzz seemed to run across his one hand. That had GOT to be flirting, right? Right? 

 

“...You've got me.” That, along with a million other words spoken from a Very Attractive pair of lips, was both the best and the worst thing he’d heard all day. Perhaps it’d just be better to stop these worries once and for all, and explain this to Fidds. Telling Fiddleford would be nerve-wracking, but maybe he could finally get the rejection over with. Wouldn’t it better to bite the bullet and confess? Sure, he’d probably lose the friendship he’d been so thankful for, but it seemed better than stumbling along with this on his plate. Besides, it’s not like he was any good at keeping friends.

 

Ford knew little about romance, to be truthful. He’d barely made any friends throughout his years, so how was he supposed to tell the difference between flirting and, well, not flirting? So many good grades, and he was still sharp as a butter knife when it came to knowing anything about romance. Of course, Stanley had been “helpful,” with advice and tips on how to woo the ladies (despite obviously being attracted to more than just girls--who  _ didn’t _ he check out?). Even then, though, those tips worked more on someone who was both cockier and liable to get it on at prom night (an event he wished he’d missed). So, here was Stanford Pines, struggling to solve a problem that could beat his hardest exams in complexity.

 

Should he have held his hand tighter? Told him to stay? Gone with him on the walk? Walks could be romantic, he knew that. Sitting back on Fidds’ bed, the nearest surface, he couldn’t help but conjure up ideas of him joining him on the stroll. Maybe Fiddleford would hold his hand again, pointing out things, telling stories, maybe even stopping for a second with a nervous smile. Ford would halt too, turning around and saying...

 

“What’s wrong, Fidds?” 

“Nothing. Just…”

“Just what?”

“...Can I kiss you?” 

 

Oh god, his brain was becoming more sappy than that teen romance novel he’d found at a garage sale (and admittedly read multiple times).  


Despite severely critiquing his daydreams, Stanford spent over an hour thinking of nothing else than his roommate. Tips and tricks (if you could call them that) from Stanley and what he'd heard from various sources in school floated through his head, and Ford couldn't help but imagine all the “what ifs” his brain could provide him with. He even considered putting his brother’s advice to the test (that is, the ones that involved them both being clothed), desperate for something, anything, to work. 

 

He imagined kisses, and he fished out a stick of lip balm that he'd almost forgotten about. He imagined kisses that, well, weren’t chaste, and made a mental note to brush his teeth and tongue more. He imagined scenario upon scenario, doubting their future existence but doing what he could to enhance them if they became reality. Fidds had been gone for an hour or so, and that was more than enough time for Ford to dream, hope, and mentally cringe about his growing crush.

 

It looked like another sleepless night for Stanford Filbrick Pines. 

If only he knew that this would help bring a plan of a certain scientific mind into action. If only he knew that the mind was located behind a smaller pair of glasses than his own, a pair that rested in front of two blue eyes.

If only.

 

At least he'd found that lip balm.

 

Ten or so minutes later, Ford heard a knock at the door. Looking away from the ceiling, the brunette willed himself to act like everything was normal in the Mind of Stanford Pines.

 

Then again, what was normal? He wasn't normal. Fiddleford was better than normal, and had said the same to him. His family wasn't normal, or at least he thought so. His life wasn't normal, but so were the lives of many other people. Was nothing ever normal? Was the idea of normalicy fake, as everyone had different views, different perspectives, diff--

 

“I’m not positive that I have my key with me, Stanford. Can ya let me in?”

“Uh, sure!” Leaving his ideas behind and walking over to the door, Ford swung the the wooden barrier between him and his roommate open.

...

_ Oh jeez. _

Did some kind of revengeful Cupid have it out for him?  


 

When he’d opened the door, Fidds had apparently found his key, as he'd been about to unlock the door with it. He’d therefore been pulled forward when Ford opened the door, and had let go of the handle/key. The door stood open, with the two roommates in the doorway.

The two roommates that were now very close, as Fidds had stopped himself, but not before being pulled almost chest to chest with Stanford. 

 

“Sorry there, Ford. I found my key, but not before you started opening the door.” Flashing an apologetic smile, Fidds left the brunette was too dumbstruck to reply. Stanford couldn't believe what he was seeing.

 

Fiddleford McGucket was blushing.

_Blushing._

 

Feeling his own cheeks heat up (a familiar event, according to embarrassing memories and Stanley’s jokes), Stanford tried to snap out of it. _Breathe,_ he commanded himself.  _ Breathe, and think of something. _


	4. Kick It Up A Notch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford knows his loopholes, and he also knows how to make a certain brunette's knees want to give out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fidds Ramps Up The Gay and we are all content  
> tbh I wrote all these chapters weeks ago and never got around to editing or posting any of it, but now I'm finally doing it are yall proud
> 
> take it away you blue-eyed bi banjo babe

_ Fiddleford’s Mind, Plan One, Part Two: Close Encounters _

 

Fiddleford had hoped his roommate would choose to not join him on his walk. Of course, he had ideas on how to ramp up the romance in that alternative, but he reallly had prided himself on this one. 

 

He'd brought his key with him. Why wouldn't he have? Every plan should strive for backup solutions. However, Fidds had kept it in his pocket, so that technically he didn't know for  _ sure _ if he had it or not. He wasn't the smoothest guy out there, but Fiddleford McGucket knew how to play this game. He might not have been in many rounds, but he knew the rules. Besides, he didn't have much to lose, and this was a pretty funny loophole.

 

Saying that he wasn't positive about his key's whereabouts was the truth. He hadn't checked his pocket on his walk, or on his way back, so there was a chance it could've fallen through a hole he didn't know was there, or whatever else. 

 

Of course, confidence in his plans (and himself too, for once) aside, he was still swept away at the look on Ford’s face as the two ended up almost torso to torso. He wanted nothing more than to grab his key from the doorknob, throw it on a desk, slam the door shut, and kiss Stanford Pines until neither of them could breathe.

 

“O-oh, it’s okay. At least your key's not lost. How was your walk?”  The blue-eyed Southener couldn’t help but grin at the flustered formality of his colleague .  _ Wow, I really did a number on him _ . 

 

Refusing to back away, Fiddleford stayed less than a foot from his friend.“Oh, it was wonderful! The sky looks amazing today--ya should draw it, what with your artistic skills.” 

“C’mon, I’m not  _ that _ good.” 

“Stanford Pines, they could hang your art in a museum and yah’d still be humble. Anyway, though, I hope you were okay with me stepping out for a walk.”

“No worries! I just relaxed and thought about stuff other than exams for once.” Looking down for a second, Ford had obviously hidden something in that sentence, but Fidds decided not to ponder on it for now. It was action time.

  
Besides, Fidds had  _ totally _ noticed that Stanford hadn’t backed away either.

 

“Guess you didn't miss me much, then, didja?” Placing a hand on his hip, the dark blonde winked at the face in front of him. “Maybe ah I should go on walks more.” Grinning at the widening eyes in front of him, the Southener wasn't expecting the reply he got at _all_.

 

“..Me, not missing you? On the contrary.” 

 

Looking at the ground again, a shy smile reaching his lips, Stanford Pines had once again blown him away, and he loved it.  _ Finally,  _ he thought,  _ Might as well go all out.  _

 

“Oh, is that so?” Leaning in slightly more, Fidds dropped his voice as he almost whispered “Is that your way of saying you wanted me here with you?”


	5. Drawing From Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford replays Fiddleford's hopefully romantic statements in his head (especially the one that trips him up the most), and vents out his frustration through drawing.
> 
> However, drawing can require lots of looking at your subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okAY BUT whenever I see posts about how good ford is at drawing I just :DDD  
> can ford please make a tumblr and post his art now that he is Home   
> mabel can teach him the memes and he will be the best at them  
> stan would make a shitpost blog and everyone would be famous
> 
> I should draw a comic about this
> 
> but yeah here's ford drawing a fiddle and being in Denail about both the drawing and also like everything

Sitting up in bed, with a watch that read 11:32, a college-dwelling  S. Pines had a pencil in one hand, a sketchbook on his knees, and a Southern voice stuck in his mind.

 

Stanford loved Fiddleford’s voice, he'd already admitted that to himself, but that same voice became 10 times more attractive when it was an octave lower, a little more quiet, and  _right in front of his face_.

 

So, when Fiddleford had leaned in and _flirted_ \--that was flirting, that was DEFINITELY flirting--with him, it was all Ford could do to not pull him into a daydream-inspired kiss. 

Recalling the events for the umpteenth time, the brunette almost cringed at his past self’s awkwardness. Yet, here he was again, replaying the event in his head with a mental groan at his own stupid comments.

* * *

“Is that your way of saying you wanted me here with you?”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean, oh god, just come inside already.” Turning away and walking into their dorm, Ford had ripped the key out of the doorknob, spinning around again to deliver it into the hands of his roommate. “Here you go, Fidds.”

“For someone who's so smart, Stanford Pines, you could use a few lessons in seeing what's in front of you.”

Grinning, Fiddleford had taken the key, thrown it on his bed, and pulled out a book. “I’ve been meaning to finish this, and you should do something similar. Yah’ve already slacked off while I was gone, we might as well relax.

Still standing where he had been before Fidds’ remark, Ford felt himself snap to attention as he sputtered.”Sure! You know, now that you mention it, I’ve got some sketches to finish. Just assorted doodles, you know.”

 

* * *

 

At the current time, he'd begun working on one of those “doodles.” The artwork was of none other a certain banjo player, and Stanford kept his paper and pencil away from Fiddleford’s view as he got to work. It was more than a little hard to focus with, well, that  _ comment _ (What was he even talking about?  _ What was right in front of him? _ ), but Ford was making considerable progress before he noticed the pair of eyes he’d been drawing were staring at him. 

Not the ones on his paper, of course, but the pair on the bed by his.

 

Then again, at the way thing had been going today, he wouldn't be that surprised if his drawing became sentient and started singing opera.

 

Looking over at the aspiring inventor, Ford raised an eyebrow.“What is it, Fidds?”

“Oh, nothing. You're just fun to watch drawing, I guess.”

“If I look that interesting drawing, you should see yourself when you're strumming that banjo.”

“Don't you worry, I've practiced in front of a mirror. By the way, what are you drawing over there?”

 

Flinching every so slightly, Ford replied with a “Nothing important” before flipping his paper over and yawning. He followed up with “Besides, I’ve got to get some sleep for once. It's almost midnight, and that's early by my recent standards--the future Stanford Pines would thank me if I caught some Zs for once.”

 

“Well, the present Stanford Pines should show the present Fiddleford McGucket that drawing, since it apparently needed a lot of glancing in the latter’s direction. Either that, or I'm just really distracting.” The word _really_ was stretched out ever so slightly, that Southern drawl twisting in Ford's chest in the best way possible.  


 

Whispering under his breath, Ford couldn't help but mutter “How about both?” not knowing that Fidds could hear him.

Fidds could hear him _all_ too well.


	6. "You're Not Straight?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hug brings a confesion, and Ford won't be getting any sleep soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fidds: lmao im bi  
> ford: whattafu ck
> 
> the next chapter/s are still in progress, might be some gaps between them but I'll try!!!

“Here. I just...needed some practice drawing from real life, okay?” Flustered as ever, a six-fingered hand shot out toward Fiddleford, holding out the drawing.

Taking the paper, Fidds almost gasped at the sketch in front of him. A million thoughts rushed through his head, but the one standing out the most was--

 

“Stanford, this is amazing! It looks just like me!” Feeling an involuntary grin reach his face, he continued “I love it! I'm guessing you'd like this back, though, as I’m not someone you'd want to finish this.”

“No, you can keep it. I have more paper, and I can tell you like it. Besides, it was just for prac--” 

Bounding over in a burst of confidence and gratitude, Fidds threw his arms around the drawing’s creator, blushing when a pair of arms shyly encircled his waist in return.

“Maybe I should draw you more often, if I’m getting this in return.”

“Oh, hush. From the hearts you sketched by my head, I have a feeling you'd draw me any time.”

“The..hearts? Oh god, I thought I erased those!” Breaking away from the hug and covering his face, Fidds couldn't help but grin as his crush looked through his fingers at the floor.

 

“Tsk, don't worry about it. They add a nice touch, you know?” Holding out Ford’s drawing, he continued with “Hey, how about ya sign it? It'd be nice to have the signature of an upcoming scientific artist.”

“Scientific artist?” The title didn't seem to agree with Stanford, but he took back the paper to write down a simple  _ Stanford Pines _ before returning the portrait. “Eh, I’ll take what I can get. Let’s get this straight, though--you really like it?”

“We’re as straight as--as the opposite of me, Ford. I love it!” Fidds knew that he was stumbling over his words, but he was  _ coming out to his crush _ , for heavens sakes, and he had no reason to except that it just felt right. Then again, just being with Stanford felt right.

 

Turning around, Fiddleford strolled over toward his bed. “You're right, we should get to sleep. Wake me if ya need anything!” 

 

He might not be able to see the look on his roommate’s face, but he had a feeling that a certain pair of brown eyes were going to be open all night. 


	7. Sleep: An Unattainable Goal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford can't sleep. This isn't something unusual, but the reason for it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time for The Angst™
> 
> can i punch filbrick pines in the face

Stanford was familiar with stressful college life. If an exam awaited him at the end of a week, the days before it would be filled with late-night studying and a multitude of anxiety-fueled panic. However, that was  _ nothing _ like what he was going through right now. Well, in a way, it was, but at least tests were graded based on systems using numbers that could be explained logically. 

 

The reason he was still awake and staring at the layers shadows before him had too many solutions and was so damn confusing that, if logic was a sentient being, it would have shaken its head and retreated. 

 

_ Fiddleford wasn’t straight.  _ Okay, so Ford had been wondering about that, what with what he had  _ hoped _ was flirting, but it’s not like that was enough evidence. Some people were just suave like that. Besides, whether Fidds was straight, gay, bi, whatever, it didn’t mean that Ford had better pick out a wedding tux. Ford was awkward, he couldn’t make friends easily, and he didn’t think he was that attractive. He could afford to lose some weight, his hair was a mess, his glasses were always covered in dust or sweat, his nose wasn’t that great, and he didn’t look manly at  _ all. _ Oh god, he had no chance at getting Fiddleford to be his, even if Fiddleford was into guys.    
  
What if Fidds hadn’t even been serious?! He was always cracking jokes, bursting with sarcasm and Southern expressions. It was always one of the more endearing things about the man, and even the worst of puns could make Stanford smile if they came out of Fiddleford’s mouth.

Oh god, he was thinking about his mouth again, which led to thoughts of kisses, which--

 

He really needed to sleep.

 

Turning over onto his other side, Ford stared at the dark shape across the room that was his roommate. The two of them had agreed to leave their window not drawn at night, since the moon and night sky was always a source of peace for the both of them. The faint light flooded the room gently, ghosting over the two men and their belongings. 

 

It was really beautiful, to be honest, and Ford made a mental note to sketch it out later.

 

Thinking of drawing reminded Stanford of the earlier events that had occurred. Thinking of that made Ford think of their almost-kiss (if you could call it that) at their door, which brought back thoughts of how goddamn  _ smitten _ he was.   
That brought back reminders of things he wished never happened.

 

There were the times when Stanford’s father was a cruel and horrible person. It’s not like Filbrick Pines was  _ always _ cold and uncaring--okay,  _ close _ to always

 

There were the times when his mother would look so upset, and it broke his heart. He’d always hug her and try to help, but he knew that the problems their family faced were so fucking  _ horrible _ , and what could he even do but just hope? She did her best on the phone, giving fake predictions at prices that slightly helped their income, but the work of a phone psychic wasn’t enough to fill the gap that swallowed their lives whole.

 

There were the times when he’d hear his parents talking about Stanley. Their voices would swirl up the house’s staircase, muffled words reaching Stanford as he tried to block them out. His mother would occasionally break down into waves of tears, with little sympathy given from her husband. Ford would try to sleep, but the only other thing to listen to besides his parents’ whispers was silence. There was never silence with Stanley around, from his music to his laughter to his snoring. Silence was something that Ford couldn’t get used to for a long time.

 

So, with everything that had gone wrong in his life, falling for a banjo player with sky blue eyes was close to topping the list.

Even if Stanford marched home with a million dollars and the same amount of awards and degrees, would it even matter if his parents found out that he was gay? Oh, sure, his mother  _ might _ be okay with it over time, but Ford couldn’t even imagine his father budging in the slightest. There were no two ways about it, Fiddleford could never have a relationship with him, even if Ford’s attraction was mutual (which it most likely wasn’t).

 

And yet, here he was, thinking to himself that  _ oh god, a life without that Southener isn’t one I ever want to  live.  _

 

An ache filled the brunette’s chest like the aftermath of a paintball, spreading anxiety and longing and a million other emotions through his veins. 

  
A series of memories flashed through his mind like a collection of moving pictures. A lilting banjo melody floating around a sunset-lit room, a touch of hands, a smile, blue eyes--

 

_ Fiddleford. _

_ Fiddleford. _

_ Fiddleford. _

  
So much for sleeping.

 

So much for getting through college unscathed.


End file.
